Fairy Tale Hetalia
by Samara Wavequest
Summary: The common fairy tales, rewritten in Hetalia style!


**This will be the first chapter in a series of drabbles, based off of common fairy tales. Many will be slightly changed, to reflect the characters and Hetalia. I still don't have a editor, so any mistakes you see are entirely my fault.** **J**

 **I think I've become better at these things! By the way, the second chapter might take a long time to get out, I currently have it my other computer, which has mysteriously died and just will not open.**

 **Chapter One- Goldilocks**

The forest was dark and damp, leaves crumbling under her feet. She had come a long way, from her oceans and beaches, to this dark and gloomy place. And frankly, she loved her land _much_ more than this. There were no seagulls here, no crashing of waves. There was the ever-present threat of danger here, and it felt like everything- from the trees to the air- was alive, silently stalking her.

Michelle was so tired, and cold too. She shivered, from both cold and fear.

Her baby-blue dress was dirty, her basket empty. She had eaten the fish in the basket long ago, and now she was hungry again. Her hair ribbons had been caught on a couple of branches some while ago, leaving her black hair sticking out everywhere. Amber eyes reflected the fear she felt, while tiny hands clenched her basket tightly. She stuck to the nearly-invisible trail like a moth attracted to a lamp, never straying, never taking her eyes off.

She turned a corner in the trail, and found her path blocked by a thick wall of ivy, branches, and dead leaves. She slowly pushed her way through them, cursing as the branches scratched her arms, leaving faint red marks. She looked up at the sky, seeing the dark purple of night shining through the dead branches.

Up ahead loomed a big mansion, blocked by a rusty black gate, adorned with the picture of fishes, basking happily in waves. Her finger traced the iron outline, leaving her longing for her home again. She gently pushed the gate open, hearing it creak. A cold autumn breeze floated past her, whipping her hair everywhere.

She stepped up the stairs, touching the big black front door. On it was the word "Seychelles", carved into it with rough knife strokes. What did "Seychelles" mean? She hesitantly touched the words, accidently pushing the unlocked door open. The house looked abandoned, and she hoped that nobody would mind she stayed there- just one night. It was getting really dark and really cold too.

The first two rooms she entered were black with ash, and utterly destroyed. Wooden planks and smashed beer bottles were thrown everywhere, with parts of the roof collapsing down.

The third room was still intact, a huge playroom, with darkened yellow walls. Books were piled neatly in stacks, in foreign languages.

She picked up one of the books, labeled "L'histoire des îles". Flipping through the pages, she found that some of them were full of text, while others had maps and drawings full of water! Putting that book down, she picked up another one. This one was labeled "The History of Land"- what did that mean? This one was looked almost the same, with different pictures, and no water.

Finally, she took up a book- the oldest out of all of them. This book, or more correctly defined, scroll, was filled with words again. At the top, was something that looked a lot like "Sejarah". She could read this! Looking over it, she saw it talked about the history of landmasses. Reading for a while, she then put that one down again, and moved to the next room.

This room was evidently the dining room, with a huge dining table in the center, a crystal chandelier in the center. A vase of white roses sat in the center of the table, with three dishes laid out.

She tried the first one, a couple long sticks of bread. On the top, it had a couple of slit marks, maybe for decoration? She spat the bites of bread out, since they were rock-hard. Turning to the second dish, she immediately refused. It looked like a pile of scones; however they had been burned to the point of disrepair. She looked over the third dish. This one was tiny, and seemed unfulfilling. It was a tiny bit of meat, with a little flower in the side for decoration. Coconut shavings decorated the sides.

She slowly tried the dish, and to her satisfaction, found that it was delicious. The meat tasted like chicken, but it also had a tinge of fish! To her hungry stomach, it tasted like heaven. She quickly devoured the dish, not even thinking about what the food meant- that somebody still lived in the house.

The next room was upstairs. It was black, with three beds. The first bed was huge; roses adorned everywhere, and pillows everywhere. She climbed into the bed, but quickly found that the bed smelled too sweet, it was keeping her awake. The next bed was no better, silk red and white. To her surprise, this one was rock hard, and she got out of it as well.

The last bed was a tiny, rickety rackety twin-sized bed. It had little mattress, and a thin, golden sheet. However, instead of being hard as she thought it would have been, it was soft, and she quickly delved into sleep.

She woke up to the sound of footsteps, climbing up the stairs. As she sat up in the bed, two men came in, one a blonde-haired man, holding a rose with a haughty expression, while the other was brown haired, with bushy eyebrows. Both were angry. "Angleterre, I told you! There is a girl in my- -"The first man stuttered, catching the eyes of Michelle.

Scared, she got out of the bed as fast as she could, brushing against the two men and running out of the house.

Outside, she nearly ran into a man, limping with a cast in one arm, bandages everywhere. Covered in rags, the man had the air of nobility, even with his head covered. He lifted his head up, and gave her his hand. He was the most handsome man she had ever met, as stunning as an angel, even bloody and bruised. She took the offered hand, letting him lead her back to the road she had just been on.

After what seemed like forever, she found herself at the beach, her canoe right in front of her. She knew the way back! Turning around, she went to thank the man, but he was gone.

 **Yes, if you haven't guessed by now, the man is Freedom. I made him poor and ragged, because freedom always comes at a price. This is Seychelles as Goldilocks, and France as the Papa bear and England as the Mama bear. Hehe. I always knew that England was the lady in the relationship. (For all you FrUK shippers)**

 **Both France and England once owned the island of Seychelles, before the island became independent.**

 **The title of the books are "The history of islands", and "History", respectively.**

 **I hope you liked this!**


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